From Fiddler's Green and Back
by cruciomysoul
Summary: Pirate AU - Wally West sails the high seas with his crew, his ship and his captain. Dick Grayson is a retired performer, working as a prison guard in Spain, and just so happens to catch himself a very pretty and very provocative vacation-taking pirate. He's never felt so unsure of his life choices before. Multiple pairings, eventual Birdflash. T for now, may go up.
1. Chapter I

**From Fiddler's Green and Back**

**Part One**

**Chapter I**

"_Some heroes I interact with get frustrated with me because I don't like to debate. I don't for two reasons. One, I've already thought whatever it is through thousands of times. I've looked at it from every angle. My mind is made up. And I don't change it often. And two, I think it's important that we all have different opinions. It's what's great about America." – The Secret of Barry Allen._

* * *

It was calm. The seas rocked the boat, each wave pushing gently against the side before folding in its self, turning into a placid white froth as it returned to the ocean.

The wind whipped silently around the sturdy wooden frame, whistling as it hit metal structures that blocked its path; forcing it to separate.

The smell, of fish and salt with a slight southern tang to it, lingered in the nostrils of those who breathed it in – filling their lungs, surfing their blood like oxygen.

Hands – milk chocolate in colour, scabbing, calloused tips and grimed nails – gripped the railing, tight in a way that brought strain to his muscles and popped his veins to the surface.

Chiselled features, squinted closed eyes, blond shaven hair and a nose that would bring spears to shame, the trail left behind was observed.

Eyes that flickered from left to right, top to bottom, from the sun to the sea to the clouds to the gulls to the waves, to the water that was slowly swishing back into one as the object that insisted on slicing it up disappeared.

Kaldur bowed his head, like he did at all times like these, and let out a heavy breath. "Forgive me, sir." He muttered, like he always did.

No one quite knew what he was asking to be forgiven, but everyone had a vague idea, Kaldur included.

Boots stepped across each wooden plank, the sound of leather heels vibrating through the air and resonating off the wood.

Chains chinked and rattled against each other as they bounced off a freckled chest.

Flaming ginger hair, streaked brown in the right light and cropped to a length that fell over the forehead but wasn't long enough to sit on the shoulders protected the scalp from a too vicious burn.

The head and face attached to said hair was smiling, all teeth and goof, eyes surveying the deck. He blinked, pale lids closing over the green irises for a fraction of a second – long enough for the scene before him to change, too fast for the darkness to linger.

He ignored the monkey perched precariously on the railing. Ignored the chattering of teeth that was supposed to be laughter. Ignored Gar and his companion altogether, really. He'd entertain them later.

He stood next to Kaldur, too close for comfort but not close enough.

As usual it was him who breached the subject of conversation first.

"Morning, Kal. How are things today? Seas are looking calm, right. Reckon there'll be a storm anytime soon? I don't, if I'm honest - I think we're too far North for that kind of extremity. Hey, did you know-"

"Wally." Kaldur cut across, effectively silencing him. "You wished to speak with me?"

"Ah, yeah, right."

"Perhaps we should go somewhere… more private?"

"Oh, no, no. Here is fine. I like it out here, sunny. It'd be dark inside."

Kaldur chuckled. "Very Well."

There was an elongated pause, in which Wally weighed out his options. He slumped, arms dangling over the side, chin resting on the wooden bar.

If he was a cat, his ears would be twitching and his tail swaying. He would be pouting, with his claws gripping the thin air uselessly.

He'd be trying to catch a fish from the moving boat, that's what he'd be doing.

Straightening his posture, Wally removed himself from the side and turned to face Kaldur. He wouldn't be dependent on anything during this conversation; he wouldn't.

Taking a deep breath, he spoke the words that had haunted him for so long.

"I-I think I need a break, Kal. It's been, what? Six, seven years? That's a long time. A real long time and- and I just can't continue, not right now."

"I understand." Kaldur was as solemn as ever, his face impassive as he stared at the waves before him. "Take as long as you need, my friend. Just remember that we, all of us, will be eagerly awaiting your return."

Wally flashed him a wry smile. "Thanks…"

Kaldur seemed to latch on to his hesitation. "You _will_ be coming back, won't you?"

"I- yes. Eventually, I will be coming back. I can sort of guarantee that. But as for when- I just don't know. It could be a few weeks, months, or…" Wally trailed off, so Kaldur finished for him.

"Years." Wally gave a nod, making a small affirmative sound.

They both stood in silence a while longer.

"Phew… Well, that was… surprisingly easy to tell you, actually. But, er- I kind of expected a bigger reaction?" He turned to Kaldur, eyebrow raised.

Despite the seriousness of this conversation, Kaldur couldn't help but chuckle. "You are very easy to read, my friend," He said after his laughter subsided, "I presumed something like this would come eventually, so I have been expecting it. As for the rest of the crew- your cousin, in particular…"

Wally sighed, slumping once more. "Bart, right. Crap. Think he'd want to come with me? No, no wait. I can't take him with me; it wouldn't be fair to separate him from Blue." _Like he'd allow himself to be separated,_ Wally added mentally. It seemed Kaldur was thinking along the same lines, however, as he received a knowing look from the elder male.

"Do you wish for me to alert the rest of the crew to your departure?" Kaldur asked, now trying to wrap up the conversation.

"Oh, no, thanks. I'll tell them all myself. I mean it's only fair, right?"

Kaldur nodded in agreement, "Right."

"Heh. Okay, then," Wally chuckled, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. "Right." I should- should probably go and tell everyone to meet below tonight."

Kaldur looked somewhat surprised. "You're going to tell them today?" Wally shrugged,

"Sure. Might as well, I mean there's no point prolonging the inevitable."

Kaldur hummed, but whether in consent or annoyance, Wally couldn't tell.

Taking it as a dismissal, though, Wally turned heel and left, stopping short before the boy hanging upside down from the wooden girders. "Garfield." Wally chided, "You _know_ you're not supposed to be up there without a spotter. M'gann will do her fruits if she catches you."

"It's okay!" Garfield called, "Monkey's spotting for me!" He pointed one arm to the monkey still perched on the rail.

"I don't think that counts, little man."

The teeth chatterer grinned and swung from his position of hanging by his ankles, landing with a thud in a balanced crouch on the railings.

"What were you talkin' to Kal about?"

Wally raised an eyebrow, "Were you eavesdropping?"

"Nope!" Gar smacked his gums at the 'P', breaking out into a huge grin.

"Liar." Wally grabbed him by the neck, turning him and rubbing his knuckle across the boy's scalp.

"Ah! Wally, gerrof!" They were both laughing though, and Wally let him go, giving him one final hair tussle.

"Are- are you really leaving us, then?" Gar latched on to him at this point, knocking Wally backwards a few steps with the sudden force. His green eyes were staring up, hopeful, praying that what he heard wasn't true.

"'Fraid so, sport." And then Gar watered up – he was as emotional as his sister – burying his head in Wally's chest.

"But- no! You can't just _leave! _We're family, right? And family stick together. I heard somewhere around the seas that we're called Ohana or s'mething. You're not gonna break up the Ohana, are you?!" His voice was muffled heavily by Wally's clothing, but the cracks could still be heard.

Wally let out a sad smile as he gazed down and forwent the question, instead asking one of his own. "Find Conner for me, 'kay? He'll listen to you."

Gar peeled himself away slowly. "But-"

"Go on," Wally cocked his head to the side in an encouraging gesture, trying to make his smile meet his eyes.

Gar bowed his head before scampering off, taking to the ropes so he could swing across the deck of the ship. Wally didn't have the heart to tell him off a second time.

"You'll take care of your owner, won't you, Monks?" Wally turned his attention to the Spider Monkey, who had not moved at all. It looked like he was scowling.

Wally would have petted him, but actually liked having the full function of his five fingered limps. Instead, he chuckled lightly to himself for even talking to the damn thing, and carried on his way. A small paw reached out and batted his arm as he passed, and Wally turned to be thumped in the face by a tail as Monkey ran off, knowing he wasn't welcome where his owner was going.

Heading down to the cabins below deck, Wally figured this would be the best place to find his little cousin. He and the boy he shacked up with spent the majority of their time down there; only seeming to come up for food, chores or when they docked. Sometimes they'd come up for parties, too.

Stopping outside their door, he knocked lightly. No way was he going to enter without permission, not after last time… Wally shuddered lightly at the memory.

"Hey, Bart, Blue!" He called, "Meet below the deck in the conference room at 8 tonight, alright? Don't be late."

"Late? We're never la-_mmph!"_ Wally didn't bother hiding his grimace as he walked away from the door.

If Wally was going to alert everyone else to the impromptu meeting, searching the rest of the space below deck would be his greatest course of action.

He passed the empty hammocks that hung low to the ground, swaying slightly in the light breeze that filtered through the open portholes.

Nobody else was 'sleeping', so he carried on through to the stock rooms. He could hear the tapping of boots following him, an all too familiar sound.

Wiping his hands across the surface of a cloth that was covering a carton of barrels, somewhat satisfied that they weren't too dusty, he sat down.

"Rumour has it you're saying goodbye tonight." The human shaped shadow that cast through the room was Roy, clad in red tunic and yellow hat, a single red plume sticking out of the corner of the hat behind his head.

"I-uh, yeah. How'd you… Gar, it was Gar wasn't it." Wally frowned, despite having expected nothing less from the younger kid.

Roy chuckled and took a seat next to him, "Conner, actually. Gar was too upset to speak, so Conner had to fill me in." Wally grimaced; he did _not_ want to be on the receiving end of a punch from Conner, especially when the boy was angry – and making Gar cry would definitely anger the black haired youth.

"Any idea where you're going to go? What you're going to do?"

"Figured I'd just get off at our next stop, gain passage to some foreign land. I was thinking Boston, actually…"

"And what are you going to do once you get to Boston?"

"Not sure… Maybe, settle down… Find a nice woman, have a few kids, you know?" He laughed, a low tinkling sound that carried through the cabin. Roy shook his head, grinning.

"Yeah, right. You, a woman? Don't make me laugh, Kid."

"Hey!" Wally falsely protested, shoving Roy. "I could get a woman if I wanted."

"Mmhmm. You probably could, if you wanted." Roy conceded, and for a short, sweet, bliss filled moment Wally thought he had won. Until Roy not so quietly added: "But you don't want, do you?" Wally rolled his eyes,

"No, I guess I don't want that."

"And that's because they're not your type, right?" Roy's voice dropped to a murmur as he inconspicuously nudged closer to Wally.

"Uh… right."

"And they're not your type because…" The voice had turned sultry. An arm went around his shoulders, while the other arm was placed gingerly on his knee.

"Because… They're, ah… Roy!"

The hand on his knee had crept slowly up, the fingers grazing the material in an antagonising way.

"Go on…" Roy was purring, quite literally, as his hand continued upwards.

"They're… Roy, stop, they're haa the-"

"Wrong gender?" Roy supplemented. And then he took the dive.

"Ye-ah! Roy!" Wally hissed his name, flushing slightly. "What are you doing?" He tried to wriggle away, but the hand around his shoulder kept him clamped down.

Not to mention the unusually sharp nails positioned so close to those delicate gems.

"Giving you a goodbye present, of course." His grin was feral as he whispered, planting a wet kiss to the corner of Wally's jaw.

"Roy… Ngh, I don't think-"

"Why not? You're already hard for me, Kid, I can feel it."

Wally wished he could dispute that claim, he really did.

"Well of course you can feel it; you've got a hand wrapped around his cock."

Smile adorning her pale pink, almost purple, lips Artemis stood in the open doorway, leaning leisurely against the frame. Her arms were crossed over her chest, below her bust, fingers loosely inside the bows that tied her over corset.

"Artemis." Roy's hand had stopped its advance, and was instead withdrawing slowly.

"Roy." Her voice was pleasant enough. Pushing off from the wall, she made her way toward them, heels clicking on the floor.

"Anyway, out. I need to speak with Kid _Flash._" Roy glared, but complied nonetheless. When he passed the still smirking Artemis, it was only natural that he shoved her with his shoulder.

Artemis retaliated by knocking the hat off of his head, watching in amusement as his hands scrambled to catch it and then place it back on his head.

"Honestly, you could at least do up your trousers." She turned to Wally, arms once again crossing.

Wally flushed deeper, scrambling his fingers to tie up the flimsy draw string.

"Whaddya want?" He asked, feigning interest in smoothing his hair.

"Cut the bull, you know why I'm here. You're leaving, and I wanna know why."

"Artemis-"

"Don't 'Artemis' me." She snapped. "I said cut the bull, so all I wanna know is the truth. Why. Are. You. Leaving?" She ground out the last few words, and in doing so had managed to get Wally on his feet and backed up against the wall.

She was a good few inches smaller than him, but it didn't matter.

She could be more than a right bitch at times, and a scary on at that.

"I just- just need a break, okay? Is that really too difficult for people to understand?" Wally threw his hands behind his head, exasperated.

"So, what? You're just going to abandon your cousin? Your family?" Wally snorted, turning to face Artemis with sharp eyes.

"Like you're one to talk. Do you even _have_ a family?" And there it was. The switch. The switch that turned her from little snarky princess to full out evil queen bitch mode.

"You know what, West? Fuck you!" Artemis snarled, spitting at Wally with her teeth bared, she stomped out of the room, slamming the cabin door behind her.

Wally groaned outwardly, slumping down and covering his face in his hands.

He didn't want to leave on bad terms with her, or with anyone; that really really wasn't his intention.

"Nice work there, Kid."

"Don't patronize me- _what the hell?! How long have you been there?!" _Wally physically jumped at the very late realisation that he wasn't alone – when he should have been alone, _thought_ he was alone.

"Long enough," Tim shrugged, stepping out of the shadows that had formerly enclosed him. He took Artemis's newly vacant barrel.

"You mean- you saw- _that_, didn't you?"

"What? You mean I saw you and Roy? Yeah, ha, I saw that." Tim smirked, and Wally groaned once more, flopping back down with a smack.

"Go away." He moaned, lifting a lazy hand to the door, the other still covering his beet red face.

* * *

When eight rolled around, everyone had filtered in below deck, into the room that had effectively been renamed the conference room.

Even Tim was visible there, in the corner, half hidden by the drooping cloths, staring intently.

Beside him was Conner, standing as far away from Garfield and Monkey as possible.

M'gann, Artemis, Zatanna and Rocket sat along the lone bench, Cassie and Babs on the floor at their feet, Billy between them.

It seemed none of them could take their eyes of Wally, each mind thinking of all the possible announcements that he had to make.

Had he thought of a new schedule for the crew, a new, more efficient way of doing things? Contracted them with a new supplier? Found them a new man who needed escape? Located, dare they hope, their families?

It was inevitable that his announcement would include them, after all.

Stepping up onto the barrels that had long ago formed the 'stage' of the conference room, Wally took a deep breath, taking the time to survey each and every one of the faces in the room.

Kaldur, at the back, staring sternly up at him beside a scowling Roy. Gar crouching on the empty barrels, Monkey perched on his shoulder. Bart and Blue, the former on the latter's lap, were occupying the top of a lone desk that was nestled against the wall, Karen and Mal leaning against either side.

"Can I have your attention, please? I, uh, have an announcement to make." They all already knew this, so it was obvious Wally was stalling for a little time.

"I'm…" Wally swallowed, "Taking a vacation."

His statement was met by silence.

"O…kay?" Cassie hedged, being the first to speak. She looked quite perplexed by his announcement, as did several others. Wally saw that he needed to clarify.

"It's a… _extended_ vacation." There were a couple of small voices now, and Wally believed his message was beginning to sink in.

Artemis however, didn't, causing her to roll her eyes and yell out: "He means he's leaving the ship and quite possibly never coming back!"

"Artemis!" Wally yelped, having hoped to break the news in a gentler fashion.

'What?' She mouthed, shrugging as the uproar started.

Voices over lapped one another, incredulity and annoyance being the common tones. By this point, everybody was on their feet, going back and forth between staring at Kaldur and Wally.

Responding to the pleading look his friend threw his way, Kaldur made his way through the congregation of crew members and up onto the make shift stage beside Wally, intent on silencing the crowd.

"Enough." He looked down at his crew, eye's narrowing slightly. "You _will_ listen to what Wally has to say."

Wally relaxed slightly, glad to have someone by him who was effectively on his side.

"I know it's probably not what any of you were expecting to hear, or wanting to hear either. But I've made up my mind," He gave a small smile, "And you should all know what I'm like once I've done that." There were a couple of forced sounding chuckles from below.

"I'm sorry. I don't want to go, but-"

"If you don't want to go, then why are you?" Conner growled out, blue eyes glinting with fury.

"I'm going because I think it would help me. Look, I'm sorry, but I've made up my mind. This is what I'm going to do."

Irritated voices muttered under people's breaths, until Zatanna was brave enough to call out;

"When? When are you leaving?" Wally's eyes floated down to her soft face,

"Uh, well, our next port is about 4 or 5 days away… so then, I guess."

"We'll throw you a party, then! The night before you leave. We still have most of the stock from our last stop in France, so we can use that. We aren't too far from our island, either, so we can restock afterward." She was leaning against Rocket's chest, her blue eyes sparkling and a pack of cards tucked away between the cloth and her breast.

There were several murmurs of agreement amongst the crew.

"That settles it, then." Kaldur's voice was loud above the rest, effectively silencing them. Kaldur smiled at Wally, one he couldn't help but return. "Before you leave, we shall celebrate. To Wally!" Kaldur lifted a fist in the air in celebration.

Although the wine had yet to be opened, battle cries and a chorused 'To Wally!' echoed throughout the room, completed with cheering and stomping and enthusiasm.

Words could not do justice to the amount that he would miss them.

* * *

**Ahhh so we've finally set sail! (C'mon, admit it; that was funny.) Anyway, I hope you've all enjoyed it and will stick around for the rest.**

**But I have a lot of people to thank for this; there's immerwennesdunkelwird over on Tumblr, who has literally been there since day one and has helped me structure this so much asdgfdl. Yeah. Massive kudos to her.**


	2. Chapter II

**From Fiddler's Green and Back**

**Part One**

**Chapter II**

"_Here, pick a card. I'll tell your future … Hmm, I see intrigue, danger... two of hearts." Batman: Zatanna S1Ep50_

* * *

"You want me to read you a fortune before you go?" Zatanna was rubbing down the table with a damp rag, cleaning it ready for the night. It was a pointless endeavour, considering it would only be getting dirty once again. But no one wanted to eat off of a dirty surface; not really.

"Only if my future contains you, beautiful." Wally winked, joining her in cleaning by scattering the barrel seats around the room. Zatanna rolled her eyes, giving him a playful shove.

"You're part of the crew; of _course_ your future contains me, Kid _idiot_."

Wally laughed, lifting one more barrel and placing it in the centre of the apparent circle he'd made.

"Huh, would you look at that. It's a quincunx," He stood back, hands on hips admiring his handy work. "What's that mean then, princess?"

Zatanna pursed her lips, before removing her deck of cards.

Wally held between his two fingers the Magician card, a stout man swamped in grey with a withered stick clutched in his frail hands, and, turning the card over slowly, he ran his thumb across the painted surface. For luck.

Zatanna still had the rest of the deck. Shuffling them swiftly, she tossed five cards face down onto the table into the same shape as the barrels with neat precision; not a single one was slanted or out of place.

Hand hovering over the centre card, she quickly switched it to that of the top right hand corner and flipped it over. Studying it for a few brief seconds, she followed suit with the rest of the cards, going from the bottom left to the centre to the top left and then finally bottom right.

Several more seconds passed as her eyes flicked over each individual card, her lips moving in silent, rapid speech.

"Hummm. Well, it means several things, actually… Fertility, the treatment of women and police, a group of friends, standing alone, or time spent in prison…"

"So I'm going to meet and greet a well-endowed female police officer who is going to arrest me?" Wally's look turned sly; "Are you sure you're not just telling me one of my fantasies?"

Zatanna levelled a look at him, eyes somewhere between annoyance and 'seriously?'

Wally put his hands up in mock surrender, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. I take your predictions very seriously. They're almost never wrong."

"Almost?" She asked politely, one sculpted eyebrow rising up in challenge.

"Hardly." Her eyebrow rose just a millimetre higher, "Never. Never wrong; always right."

Zatanna smiled sweetly at him, patting him on the shoulder as she walked past. "That's what I thought."

"I bet it's not the only thing you thou- ow!" Removing the damp cloth from his face, Wally chuckled and carried on wiping the table down for her.

Once he had finished, he was about to go in search of the bowls and plates when M'gann found him.

"What are you doing?" She demanded, slamming the cupboard door shut. Wally only narrowly avoided having his fingers sliced off.

"Uhhh… helping set up?" He spoke cautiously, baffled by her attitude. She waved her hands at him frantically, shooing him away.

"No. Stop. Shoo," She pointed at the door way. "Leave. You're not helping set up for your own leaving party. Go."

"But-"

"Go! We'll tell you when it's okay for you to come down!"

Backing away slowly, side stepping Conner's hulking figure in the doorway, Wally headed up top.

"M'gann kick you out?" Rocket asked as he reached the top of the stairs. She was leaning around the foremast, securing the ropes that held the mast sails in place. It seemed she had done another patch repair job during the last couple of days, and was now presenting them – just in time for Wally's goodbye.

He couldn't help but think they'd been put up especially for him.

"Yeah." Wally ran a hand through his hair, admiring her work. She had one foot on the wooden pole, bracing her weight, with the rope wrapped around her hands as she pulled and tried to tighten it into a worthy knot. "You need any help?" He asked, walking nearer.

Rocket shook her head, "Nah, I'm good. Why don't you go and see Kal? I hear we're almost in view of the land. I don't think he wants to get much closer, so he'll probably need some assistance putting the anchor down. And if Conner's helping M'gann…"

Wally nodded, "Alright. I'll see you later, then. Nice work on the sail, by the way."

She flashed a smile at his now turning body. "Thanks, man."

Whistling on his way, Wally passed several odd occurrences:

Bart, Blue and Tim searching through the crates for only the ripest fruits; Gar using Monkey to his advantage by instructing him to untie the ropes in places he couldn't climb high enough; Artemis and Cass spotting for Gar and fishing out the old decorative candle holders respectively. Everyone else must have been below deck, helping M'gann.

_They must really be going all out,_ he thought with a wry smile.

Roy and Kaldur were at opposite ends of the ship, yelling back and forth to one another.

"It's wedged!" Was the first Wally heard, ears straining to hear Kaldur's response as he veered closer to Roy.

"What do you mean, 'wedged'?" Kaldur shouted, hurrying to wrap the rode back around it's stumped pole.

"I _mean_ the bloody thing won't come undone!" Roy growled, and there was a loud crack as Roy hit his fist against something he probably shouldn't have, if the hiss of pain he released was any indicator.

"We're putting the anchor down now?" Wally inquired, leaning over the edge to see what Roy was deeming as stuck.

"Yeah." Roy's voice was slightly muffled by the hair that the wind kept blowing into his mouth. "Ack," he rasped as he kept having to divert his attention to pull it out. "This is as far in land as Kaldur wants to go- doesn't want any trouble off the coast guards."

"It's not very far in land…" Wally muttered, mainly to himself.

"What, rowing too much of an effort for you? You should be thankful we're even doing this much for you, with the amount of trouble you cause…" Roy's fingers were fiddling with some padlocks, trying numerous keys and turning them all to no avail.

"Of course rowing isn't!" Wally snapped, glaring at Roy's shoulders that were shaking, undoubtedly with laughter.

"Yeah yeah, Kid, whatever you say." Wally pouted, before looking over the railings at Roy's hands once more.

"It's the key with the broken head." Wally mumbled, praying Roy hadn't heard so he could watch the elder red head struggle for a little while longer.

His prayer wasn't answered, though, as Roy's hands froze mid fiddle, and quickly switched the keys so that the one Wally had pointed out was in the lock. "Son of a bitch," He swore, turning the lock and giving a satisfied growl once it popped open.

"All sorted?" Kaldur asked, having come over after Roy's declaration. Roy nodded, moving along to the right so he could unbuckle the other top padlock.

"Yeah," Roy commented, "Although someone's going to have to go down and do the bottom two locks and the clips on the chain. I can't reach them from here."

"I'll go." Wally volunteered, legs already swung over the railing.

"You sure?" Roy raised an eyebrow at Wally's sudden willingness.

"May as well. Nobody else will let me help them." Roy shrugged, handing him the keys.

"You know which one." He stated calmly, "Want a safety rope?" Wally shook his head,

"No thanks. I'll be fine."

Keys in mouth, Wally turned so his chest was against the outside of the hull, and began his descent.

Every time he passed a latch, he took out the metal pin that was keeping it secure against the side of the boat, pocketed it, and pulled the rusted hoop across so that it was no longer covering the chain.

He continued this until his feet landed on the stable surface of a recess in the hull, the place that stowed the stockless anchor.

Pulling a much larger and heavier pin out of the first chain link above the iron ball, Wally placed that one in the space behind the anchor.

"Okay," Wally hollered up, "Undo the rode now, and I'll pull it down." He listened out for Roy and Kaldur's affirmative response before unlocking the two final padlocks. He could hear the metal links of the chain clinking against one another as the line went slack, so Wally placed his two hands on either side of the shank, and began pulling the anchor forward.

It took several attempts, and an equal amount of grunts, for the anchor to budge, and Wally had to rapidly jump up above the falling anchor so that he avoided becoming sandwiched between it and the sea bed.

He turned his face away from the water as the anchor connected with it, slicing through and sending water spraying up – soaking his back, flying higher and splattering on the deck above him.

Beginning a brisk ascent upwards, he was soon brought to a halt when the anchor allied with the sand, sending a shudder through the whole boat.

In hindsight, he probably should have said yes to the safety rope.

As the tremor on the outside of the hull continued, Wally found it increasingly difficult to keep his grip on the now slick surface – he definitely should have said yes to the rope.

When his hands failed him one too many times, after trying to reach up so he could grip the bottom of the railing, his feet decided to fail him as well – his heel slipped off the edge, and that was all it took for him to lose his balance completely.

He let out a (manly) shriek as his body toppled backwards, gravity seeming to prefer the idea of his head being the object to connect with the sea first.

Last minute, when Wally was certain he was a goner, a rough hand wrapped around his ankle, pulling his body to a jerking stop. Wally groaned as he felt his neck bob, fearfully close to snapping.

Wally raised his head slowly, looking at his saviour.

"I got you." Kaldur spoke softly, beginning to pull Wally up. When he was in reaching distance, Roy grabbed his arms and helped him sit up on the side of the ship. Wally waved off his offer for something to dry himself with. The sun would do that job nicely, instead wishing to sit beside Kaldur for a moment and relish in the fact that, well, in the fact that he hadn't died.

"Aw man," Wally complained, stretching his arms out before him. "Conner and Mal make that look _so_ easy!" Kaldur chuckled quietly.

"Are you still sure you wish to leave?" Kaldur asked, a bemused smile still littering his face.

"What's the alternative? Stay and almost go overboard on a regular basis? I still haven't forgotten what happened Tuesday, y'know…" Wally shivered, but tried to pass it off as a shudder.

Kaldur saw straight through it and rolled his eyes, slipping back onto his feet. "Not what I was referring to." Wally chuckled,

"I know. But I'm sure."

* * *

The party room was beside the conference room, connected by a single passage that was filled with now empty wine holders and semi-repaired lobster traps.

Wally had been instructed not to enter the room until the sun was at least half way set, and so when only the thin strip of the top half of the sun was visible, the rest hidden by the red horizon, Wally pushed open the swinging door and walked in.

What his eyes were met with blew away whatever witty remark he was about to make, mouth stuck open in its position.

Nobody had bothered cleaning themselves up, which was only natural.

There were a lot more stools dotted around, and the table was decorated – beautifully so.

Candles hung from rungs and hooks in the walls, encased in polished brass and glass containers, their flames glowing bright in the dimly lit room, flickering left and right and thick and thin.

Gone was the marred and stained surface of the elm table, instead covered by a patched up and glamourized version of their early flag design.

He was glad Rocket had had the sense to keep it when they redesigned it.

Atop the table was a collection of cracked, chipped and overly discoloured bowls, plates and cups, filled with fruits, meats and wines.

It was Roy who grabbed his hand and dragged him into the centre of the room, handing him a bottle of rum and leading the cheers. Everyone else had already delved into their drinks.

And so began the dancing, accompanied by the virtuous sound of horsehair stroking steel fibres in a cordially fashion, the cool varnished wood resting against Karen's dainty cheek as she stood, eyes closed, playing. Barbara was seated upon the makeshift stage that had been recreated in this room, her nimble fingers pulling and stroking the cat gut strings that lined her harp. Beside her was Blue, apart from Bart for once, his hands lazily fondling the small lyre that rested against his chest.

Wally knew he had been taking lessons from her, intent on impressing Bart. And he got the distinctive feeling that whatever he was playing – despite it matching the harmonious melody produced by the two girls – was not meant for his ears.

When he had a spare moment to himself, Wally made his way over to the side of the room, his feet taking a long ago remembered path.

Back against the wall, one hand shoved in his pocket, Wally lazily lifted his glass bottle up a few inches, knocking it against the plaque. Several small droplets spilled out of the bottle neck, coating his fingers in the sweet tasting liquid.

The plaque, inscribed with a crudely drawn bat-bird hybrid and a wonky 'J.T', was the only thing in this room kept clean on a regular basis.

Wally's index finger grazed over the engraving. "It's a shame you're no longer here, Jay. You'd have got a kick out of seeing all the fanfare for my departure." Giving himself, and effectively Jason too a silent chuckle, Wally tapped the wood once with a finger nail before turning back to the dancing crew.

Bright smile decorating his lips, he sashayed into the middle of the crowd, taking a swig of his bottle of rum.

Dance, drink and laughter in the company of luscious women, dazzling men and cheeky brats? He could do this all night.

* * *

By the time morning swamped around, with most of the crew sporting alcohol induced headaches, Wally was severely regretting his decision of telling the crew about his departure.

He should have just disappeared in the middle of the night. It would have been much, much simpler for him.

Instead, he was in the middle of a rather suffocating group hug.

Having been attacked by everyone individually during the night, and even repeatedly by some (namely M'gann and Gar and Bart) come morning, Wally was – dare he say it – quite sick of the constant bodily contact.

Said group that was hugging him mainly consisted of the youngsters; Gar (and Monkey, although Wally wasn't entirely sure where that vicious fur ball had ended up), Billy – who up until that point had stayed fairly vigilant about the whole thing, it seemed his bravado façade was slipping. Cass, the closest to him, blonde hair tickling the underside of his chin, Bart securing a vice like grip around his waist, nose pressed into his back. He even believed Tim was lost somewhere in the huddle.

"I don't want you to go." He felt, rather than heard, Bart's mumble against his back. His face softened, along with the harsh words his internal monologue was spewing about the people hanging off of him.

"Sorry champ," Wally responded, giving one of the heads around him a stroke. Didn't really matter whose. "But, er- y'all are gonna have to let go of me at some point."

Wally gasped as the group constricted around him, a flash of fear running through him as he thought- _this is it, holy crap I'm going to die of suffocation on a boat, _a boat_ of all things_, before they suddenly all disbanded and stepped back, many faces wet with tears – both shed and unshed.

"Still sure?" Gar sniffed, Monkey screeching on his shoulder.

Wally nodded, taking a look at the distant island, at the port he couldn't see. "I'm sure. Besides," He cracked a smile, "I'm sure you'll always take me back if it turns out to be a terrible decision."

"Of course we will!" M'gann cried, clutching Conner's hand for support – it seemed to be her only anchor preventing her from running forward and enveloping Wally once more. If it was hurting him, he didn't show.

"Alright." Kaldur clapped Wally once on the shoulder,

"What," Wally grinned cheekily, hoping the moisture in his eyes didn't show, "No hug for your ol' pal?"

Kaldur levelled a look at him, frown deepening. It lasted approximately half a second, before his strong muscled arms wrapped around Wally, his head down so his forehead was against Wally's shoulder.

"You will _always_ be welcomed back here," Kaldur said quietly,

"Thanks, Kal." Wally replied, bringing his arms up to complete the embrace. He closed his eyes as Kaldur squeezed him tighter, swallowing the lump in his throat. It was beginning to hurt, and he wanted to be gone before it hurt too much.

* * *

**Okay, So I can't read tarot cards. But I tried looking for how on the web, so I can't say this is 100% accurate. So please disregard that, It more than likely won't come up again (unless I learn how to write about it properly from a reliable source *hint hint*)**

**And I believe the boat terminology is sort of maybe a little correct? I know how to handle small one/two person boats, but nothing much bigger…**

**Also, vacationing. Chapter 3 won't be for a few weeks, sorry!**


	3. Chapter III

**From Fiddler's Green and Back**

**Part One**

**Chapter III**

_"Of course, I know about bad luck... that's one of the lessons that this city teaches us all, eventually." - Gotham Central #1_

* * *

It had been a while since Wally had undertaken such a strenuous activity. By the time he could distinguish the port from the rest of the land, his arms were aching from the constant rowing speed he had tried to keep.

After the hug from Kaldur and another, final, goodbye to the rest of the crew, Wally and the small two person rowboat he was stood inside had been lowered down into the ocean by Conner and Mal, who then proceeded to pass him the two ores.

He hadn't taken many belongings with him – just what he could fit into his pockets.

That was Artemis and Zatanna's doing; "You're keeping this here." Artemis had growled, both of them standing before his possessions, blocking all access.

"Call it insurance," Zatanna offered up sweetly, "This way your return is guaranteed."

Wally couldn't exactly argue against that, and so he'd just gone along with their arrangement.

Taking out his rarely used and only kept as a precaution pistol, and not wanting to cause a riot before he'd even docked by firing a shot, he flipping it in his hand so that he was holding the barrel.

Lining up the barrel with the gutter in the planks of wood, he bought the gun crashing down like a gavel, splitting the wood so a hole formed.

Water gushed inside the boat, filling up from the hole and then spreading across the floor of the whole row boat.

He wasn't going down yet; though. He wouldn't properly start sinking until he was no longer in the boat.

It was a short step from the side of his boat to the set of wooden steps that led up to the pier.

His arrival was greeted by a short man clad in red stockings, a navy jacket fastened by shining brass buttons and a matching pair of upturned cuffs, also in red. The hat on his head was black with a red outline, and he looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"Red." Wally said, mostly to himself, "Must be the Spanish." The man grunted, ignoring the remark and presented Wally with a piece of parchment on a slate of wood, quill on top.

"Name, country of origin, stay period." The man spoke tersely, jabbing the objects in his hand at Wally once more to show his annoyance.

Wally took the quill in his right hand, using it to scrawl a haphazard 'John Smith' across the line.

For country of origin, well, for that he just put England. He could pull off a British accent if he had to – not that he would have to, though. Years of travelling would have rid him of that drawl, after all.

His stay was indefinite, so he filled it in with a dash.

When the guard took the parchment back and flicked his eyes over it, his expression didn't change except grow slightly more weary.

The amount of John Smiths that he signed in daily, Wally could only imagine was high. And he'd just made it one higher; he wondered how many of them put England, too…

"That'll be 6 gold then, for now. You'll have to pay again next week if you're still here." Wally nodded, thrusting his hands into his pockets, feigning searching for the coins.

When he pretended to pull up short on the payment, Wally lifted his hands in an apologetic gesture.

"I've only got 2 on me, that's enough for my little thing, isn't it?" He asked, motioning to the boat he'd just stepped off. What was still visible of the boat, anyway – not that the guard even bothered to look.

"Look 'ere, 'John Smith', no matta' how small it is, you can't port your boat here without paying the full price."

By now, the boat should have been fully submerged. Or at the very least, no longer visible above the dock they were standing on.

Innocence was the key, here. "What ship?" Wally questioned, blinking a couple of times.

The guard gave him a look, before extending an arm and pointing in the direction from whence Wally came, his head slowly and dramatically following suit as he let out a dramatic breath. "_That_ ship- oi, where'd it go- OI!"

Taking swift steps forward, Wally had ducked around the guard whilst he was looking at the now sunken boat, and ran in the opposite direction.

He could hear the yells of the guard, his footsteps echoing after him as they both ran. Wally being chased, and the guard chasing.

His heart was beating fast, adrenaline high. He pushed through the crowded streets, shoving when and where necessary, leaving a pretty decent commotion in his wake.

So much for not wanting to cause a riot.

He could hear the people gossip in hushed murmurs, pointing as he fled past, their voices carrying over the wind:

"What's going on?"

"We haven't got another thief have-"

"I swear, those guards down-"

"Fifth one this month!"

"Commodore Joyce has better do something about this soon-"

It was hard to distinguish footsteps following him from the footsteps of the crowd goers, so Wally didn't feel safe stopping any time soon, or any place near. He could still hear the voice yelling after him, now accompanied by several others.

It mainly consisted of 'Oi, you!'s and 'Wait!'s and 'Stop him!'s, the last one causing Wally to have to deviate to the side every now and then as brave men tried to grab him with their meaty paws as he scuttled through.

Their attempts were (mostly) always useless, though.

There was this one guy, who- well, to put it simply, he decided to topple one of the carts over as Wally was approaching the market square. Melons, cabbages, apples and oranges scattered all over the street, and avoiding them (and the cart) was a hassle.

More than once he stumbled, and on one occasion landed on his side, having to roll away and launch back up into a run as soon as possible.

He had heard his shirt sleeve rip as it snagged against something (probably someone's hand grabbing it, if he thought about it, it was all a bit of a flurry) but Wally would not be caught; at least, not so soon into his vacation.

So he carried on.

Several minutes later – minutes filled with continuous running, panting and over all extortion that probably wasn't good for his un-stretched ligaments, Wally could only slightly hear the voices yelling, now very faint.

Slowing down to just a casual jog – the people in this part of the town had yet to be alerted to his presence, and running so fast and so hard would only make them suspicious and therefore render any chance of hiding here impossible.

Wally turned a few more corners, down a few more alleys – surely he was going in circles, now? Back on himself… Yes, yes he had passed this same shrub not moments ago, and that fence… those doors, too, now that he thought about it…

"Agh!" Wally cried, slumping against a stone wall.

He took a deep breath through his mouth, exhaling through his nose. Well, it was more of a short blast of air than exhalation, if anything.

_Okay, okay,_ Wally thought, straightening up and looking around, _news will reach here shortly. I need a disguise._

* * *

It took Wally roughly twelve minutes to find a suitable disguise, in a house not too far from the stone wall he had rested at.

It took roughly another twenty-seven minutes for him to actually get into it, careful not to ruffle it or mess up his own clothing underneath, and then a further nine (clueless filled) minutes to admire himself in the looking glass and pat down the curls.

Satisfied, Wally made his way over to the window that he had climbed through to get into the house.

Foolish owners, leaving it wide open.

Foolish Wally, thinking he could get out the same way he came in.

"I _really_ didn't think this one through." Sighing, Wally pulled his hands away from the window frame. "God _damn it,_ Uncle Barry! I swear, this is the last time I trust one of your plans." Wally muttered, exiting the bedroom as quietly as he could.

The floorboards below him creaked with every step, echoing the clip of his heels as they left little scuffs on the boards.

His encased fingers slid along the banister as he made his way down the stairs, the other hand bunched at his hip.

When he reached the bottom, he noticed a basket on the floor, holding… bunched cloth? He didn't know, but they looked fancy. Smiling for his luck, he picked out a nice yellow one by the handle and swung it over his shoulder.

The house was silent apart from his footsteps as he made his way to the back door. He observed the little belongings that were present, and concluded that this was a family home.

A very unhappy family home, it seemed, and the thought made him shudder.

The back door was an easy task to unlock, considering the key was in plain sight, so his next move was to step through the frame and let the door swing shut behind him.

He took the bunched cloth from over his shoulder, and examined it. A quick fiddle with frills at the end caused it bloom open, and Wally took a step back in genuine surprise – that and he wanted to avoid getting hit in the face.

"Huh," he muttered, placing the umbrella back over his shoulder.

He left the back steps, and headed back into the town – a different route to the one that he had come.

Wally was walking along the bridge wall, humming and peering over the edge at the water below every now and then, when there was a light, two fingered double tap on his shoulder.

"Excuse me, miss, but you haven't seen a scruffy looking man around here, have you?"

Wally turned, parasol in his hand twizzling as he did. God, he hoped the make-up looked alright.

"Hmm, scruffy looking man? I'm afraid not, sir." The unnaturally high voice sounded wrong even to Wally. He gave a petite sounding cough, and apologised for having a tickle in his throat.

"He's about yay high," The man pointed to about an inch or two below Wally's own head – thank God for those heels! "Ginger hair, freckles, tinted blouse and boots."

"No, it does not ring a bell."

"Well if you do see him, let us know immediately; we have reason to believe he's a Pirate."

Wally produced a lip-closed smile. "What makes you think he was a pirate? The lad could have just been a pauper,"

"Pauper's don't run off without paying their docking fee. If he was just a pauper, he would'a paid in some other way – a way he could afford."

Wally could only just stop himself from blanching. A way he could afford…? Wally didn't dare think of what that would entail.

"Plus," the man continued, "Saw an ink up on his arm. Lightning bolt. No pauper could afford one of them."

"Oh," Wally conceded, "But what nerve he must have to show up at such a fine port as this!" Wally pretended to fume, and the man gave a cross between a smile and a laugh.

"Yeah. May I take your name, miss?"

"My name? Of course you may, it's, er- Lady…" Wally's eyes darted around as inconspicuously as they could while he racked his brain for a name. "Lady Line..ster." Wally widened his mouth into a smile, showing the bottom of his two front teeth.

"Linester? As in, related to Lord Linester, of the Wiccandale inn?" Wally's eyes widened, _he was a real person?_

"Ah, uh, yes! As a matter of fact, that fine gentleman is my uncle." It didn't matter; Wally could play this off with a smile.

"I wasn't aware he had siblings. A sister or a brother?" His interest seemed genuine.

"Both, actually – but I'm from the brother's side. Although neither he nor Aunt Linester get along very well with Uncle, I'm afraid." Wally smiled flirtatiously, risking putting a hand briefly on the man's forearm, the gap between his glove and the hem of his dress arm widening as his arm was extended.

The man's eyes flicked down to the hand on his arm, and then back up to Wally's face as he pulled his hand away.

Something ticked in his brain, and the guard narrowed his eyes. Wally was oblivious to this development.

"So, Miss, just how old _are _you?" He asked, mirroring Wally's flirtatious tone.

"Twenty-three." Wally answered truthfully.

"Oh?" The man sounded pleasantly surprised, one eye brow rising as his mouth was kept open in a small 'O' shape. A pedicured hand hovered underneath Wally's chin, his index finger just touching. "What divine… _youth_ you have. You certainly take after your uncle. He doesn't look a day over thirty!"

Wally smiled again, taking a small step backward so that his chin was free of his hand.

He started making excuses to leave; no point in lingering. He'd effectively gotten away with the disguise, so the town was his next conquest.

Oh, how wrong his optimism was.

"I'm afraid I must go, now; I am expected back home shortly." Wally took another step backward, preparing to turn.

"Oh, please, allow me to take you." Wally coughed awkwardly in surprise,

"No, no, it's quite all right. It's not far, I can manage by myself." Wally smiled, lips closed.

"Well, if you insist." It was then that the guard did something Wally was _not_ expecting:

He reached forward, grabbed Wally's free hand, and pulled it out towards him.

He was going to _kiss_ it, Wally knew.

The guard dipped down, his lips going for the top of Wally's gloved knuckle.

About an inch away, they stopped, and the guard said one last thing to him.

"It was a pleasure speaking with you, miss… _Pirate."_ The man's lip snarled on that last word, and his eyes flashed in mirth as he looked up through his lashes at Wally's incredulous face.

The guard straightened immediately, his other hand flashing forward and ripping the sleeve of Wally's dress as the one pulled down his glove, revealing the arm beneath.

The arm that was covered in ginger hairs, freckles, stains and mud patches – all things terribly out of place on a lady.

And then, of course, there was an upside down triangle – the bottom half of a lightning bolt, perhaps?

"Got you." He hissed with glee.

* * *

**Well, wasn't that last line just a sinker? (Yay boat humour – hey who spotted the ATLA reference?) I promise any future flirting attempts will be a bit better than that xD but just to be clear - that guard _ISN'T_ Dick. Sorrry for any confusion :')**

**This actually concludes Part One! Erm, I'm not sure when Part Two will be up as it is in the middle of being written… Soon, hopefully. (though don't quote me on that 'kay good) **

**Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter IV

**From Fiddler's Green and Back**

**Part Two**

**Chapter IV**

_"They say skydiving is for people with a death wish. I've come to learn it's for people with a life wish. A wish for things to be as amazing as jumping out of a plane on a beautiful clear day from so high up that you feel you can almost touch the stars. And that's what I am going to do soon. Make the great leap. Touch the stars. Not as Nightwing. Not as a Titan. Not as an Outsider. Just as me. Richard Grayson." – Nightwing #141_

* * *

When Richard Grayson woke up, the first thing he did was roll graciously out of bed, onto his feet and stretch.

He rubbed the nape of his neck, for a reason not particular, and yawned.

He was sleepy when he found his clothes, still sleepy when he got dressed and sleepy still when he made his way out of the house, functioning like a zombie on his way to the market.

A green, un-bruised apple was what he grabbed from a market stall, throwing the seller a couple of bronze coins to cover the cost.

He sunk his teeth into it as he ploughed on, avoiding the men and women who were still setting up stalls and transporting goods. The juice dribbled down his chin as he chewed and crunched on the skin and flesh beneath.

When Dick reached the court house, the door was unlocked. This wasn't unusual; there was always one person who usually got to work and started the day before him. Beaming smile gracing his face, Dick entered the courtroom.

"Morning, Judge Luthor." He called, giving the man a cheery wave as he headed over to the key cubby.

Judge Luthor looked up as Dick passed, returning a languid smile with ease. "Good morning, Richard. Have a nice night?" Lex put his pen down beside the ink well, intent on thoroughly listening to what the young man had to say.

"Oh, yes." Dick's tone was taking a reminiscent edge. "It was great to see another performing group in the city, even if it was just for one night. They had fantastic moves… and grace… the acrobats, they were…" Dick's words and actions faltered as he fumbled away in the cupboard, looking for the keys to the jailhouse, his speech having come to an end. But he soon picked it right back up again, and Lex pretended not to notice the pause or the stiff set in his shoulders it produced. "Thanks again, really, for purchasing the tickets for me. You really didn't have to."

Lex chuckled, standing and making his way down from the Judge's seat inside the podium before walking over to Dick and placing a warm, heavy hand onto his shoulder. The action made Dick relax, if only slightly. "Nonsense," Lex declared, "It's your birthday soon, is it not? Think of it as a gift,"

Dick turned his head to look up at him, smiling once more – though this time, in gratitude, with a hint of worship hidden beneath the layers of blue in his irises.

Lex patted Dick on the shoulder once more, before releasing him. "I should get back to work," He said, beginning to back away. As Dick made no apparent move to get himself to his own work, Lex took it upon his self to call over his shoulder: "As, Mr Grayson, so should you." Dick grinned sheepishly at the back facing him, and with a quickly muttered 'yes, sir' he grabbed the correct bundle of keys and made his way down through the rest of the court house and into the jail house out back.

The prisoners were kept below, and as he settled fleetingly into the measly wooden chair in front of the desk, he could hear them squirm and begin to stir as the sunlight undoubtedly assaulted them.

After checking the records of who should be in the prison below – not that he didn't already know, but it was always a good thing to check; besides, Duela had killed herself last night, so he could cross her name out of the book.

And cross he did, scrawling the date of her departure in small script just below.

Satisfied he had the names mesmerised, he shut the book with a heavy thump and made his way below, forgetting about the keys on the desk.

There was another desk and chair set up below, which Dick readily claimed, positioning himself so that he was comfy whilst he waited for his lumbering boss to arrive.

Long moments of Dick staring at the ceiling passed before he began to hear the familiar set of footsteps moving about upstairs.

"Hey, Richard!" A large, burly man sauntered down the stairs of the jail house, making a beeline for the young male resting lazily on the chair, legs outstretched. The ring of keys that Dick had forgotten were hanging from two of his fingers – the only two that could fit through the small gap generously left by the key heads, jangling and clinking against one another – and his free hand was scratching his face, skimming over the fresh stubble.

He tossed the keys at Dick, who caught them easily with one hand. "You're on food and guard duty for the rest of the week. Have fun," The man's lips lifted up into a snarl like grin and as he turned and walked away, eyes casting over the howling prisoners, ignoring the extended arms and grabbing hands that reached through the cells.

Dick rolled his eyes, "Of _course_ he's put me on that." He muttered, hopping up and flexing his back. His arm and shoulder sockets gave a satisfying '_pop'_ as he stretched them, causing him to roll the joints afterwards.

_Well, I might as well feed them now._ He thought, scratching his mop of raven coloured hair as he yawned once again.

The food Dick had to prepare for each of the prisoners was, quite literally, pig food.

Fed twice daily, for breakfast it was porridge; crushed oats mixed in a bowl of cold water. Not appetising at all, and then evening meal time was (freshly caught that week) lobster.

Gathering the small wooden bowls, he opened the barrel containing the oats and scattered a handful in each. He then poured in some water, and stacked them in a pile so that carrying them was easier.

Grabbing a matching pestle, he mixed and stirred and smoothed over the oats in the top bowl.

The first cell he reached belonged to Stumps.

"Morning," Dick greeted. He could see a leg poking out from the corner, so he knew Stumps hadn't managed to escape overnight. "Sleep well?" He questioned. There was a grunt, and something that vaguely sounded like 'Well enough', so Dick was happy.

Stumps had no hands, and hardly any teeth. All that was left at the ends of his arms was, well, stumps. Nobody knew his real name, having signed in on his last known documentation as John Smith - and there was already enough John Smiths and John Doe's milling about, so they'd just eternally branded him as Stumps.

Everyone knew Stumps, as there was only one of him.

Everyone also knew John, but you'd have to be extremely specific to find the right one.

"Don't worry, Stumps," Dick prattled on as he continued to smooth over the oats for him. "No doubt there'll be new prisoners come tomorrow. I heard Judge Luthor has got a pretty nasty case coming up soon. You'll have a new neighbour soon enough, I'm sure."

Satisfied that the porridge was as smooth as it was ever going to get, Dick leant down and fed it through the door, giving the bowl a small push so it was a bit closer to him.

He hopped back up onto his feet in no time, watching as Stumps scurried forward, head bent low toward the ground.

It was like watching a dog eat; only a dog knows _how_ to eat.

Having no opposable thumbs, or any fingers at all, comes natural to them.

It didn't come natural to Stumps, or any human, and after every meal his chin, the parts his tongue couldn't reach, would be covered in food.

One over from Stumps, the other side of Duela Dent's now vacant cage, was Hartley Rathaway.

A boy born deaf, he had had the hardest childhood.

Growing up in one of the wealthiest, most respected families – Hartley Rathaway was not happy.

His father was ashamed, his mother sorrowful. He was pitied; by them, their servants and the public.

The public because everybody knew the story of poor little Hartley Rathaway; the boy who turned to crime to try and please his father, to try and get himself noticed by the old man.

Oh, he got himself noticed, all right. Just not by the person he had been hoping for.

After being caught attempting steal a flute from the cabinet in the band section of the town hall – (_"What on earth for?"_ Were the town cries, _"He's _deaf!_"_) – Hartley had been thrown in jail. And kept there, for the sole purpose of being 'taught a lesson'.

The only reason he still had his hands – the only reason he was not left like ol' Stumps over there, was because he was pitied. And also, the judge sentencing him was an easy sway for his father to accomplish.

Had the Rathaway's any less money or less publicity, Dick highly suspected Hartley would have been severely punished and de-limbed. But alas, they did not, and so Dick was forced to feed him the mush they called food twice daily.

Sometimes Hartley would accept it without a word, (today was one of those days) other times he would silently ask what was in it, never taking his eyes from Dick's lips.

If it wasn't for the fact that Hartley needed to look at his lips to figure out what was being said, Dick might have felt a little unnerved.

And possibly a little turned on that he would stare at his mouth so much - but it was all for survival purposes, he knew.

Other times, Hartley would forego breakfast in favour of pushing it through the cage toward Philip, who may have knocked his over or dropped it and unable to find it again.

Dick had witnessed, on more than one occasion, Hartley with his hands through the gaps of the wall, feeding Philip so the man didn't have to struggle through it himself.

Dick didn't pity Hartley, but he did feel sorry for him.

Philip was blind.

He had been in the jailhouse the longest, and Dick believed nobody still working there actually knew why he was imprisoned – or why his eyes had been gouged out.

But they had, and every now and then dark red liquid would ooze out of them, dribbling slowly down his cheeks and rolling off of his chin before dropping silently to the soiled floor.

It was the result of him digging his fingers inside the empty sockets, clawing at the vulnerable flesh that lay there, reopening wounds that never got a proper chance to heal.

Whenever Dick posed the question of applying bandages to his eyes, to try and lesser the damage, he was always shot down faster than a fox in hunting season.

They weren't supposed to care for prisoners.

Dick's thinking was broken by the angry muttering of Jervis Tetch.

He was muttering under his breath, quietly, but Dick could still hear him. And Dick found it quite odd; generally Jervis only spoke like that when extremely agitated.

Had the other prisoners been mocking him again?

Dick frowned, looking around at those held in the near vicinity of Jervis's cell.

When Dick stopped mere metres from Jervis, it appeared to make no difference to the man.

Until he cleared his throat and began to speak, "Is everything okay, Je-" A scratchy whisper cut him off,

"You throw away the outside and cook the inside. Then you eat the outside and throw away the inside. What," Jervis looked up from his scribbles in the dust, one finger tracing perfect circles on the floor. "Did you just eat?" His eyes were slightly unfocused as he asked Dick the question, giving them the appearance of being glazed over.

Dick mulled the riddle over in his brain, whilst also thinking about what would make Jervis so nervous as to start sprouting riddles. In his thinking time, Jervis had silently climbed to his feet and wondered forward, now standing quite close to the edge of the cell.

"A chicken, Jervis. I think I just ate a chicken." A satisfied smile crept over Jervis' face, and he seemed to refocus in on Dick.

"It's Hatter," Jervis crowed, "I prefer Hatter."

"Er, good to know." Dick said absently, knocking the pestle against the edge of Jervis's bowl a couple times so the grainy paste still stuck to it fell off and re-joined the rest of the sustenance.

"Do we _have_ chicken?" Jervis asked, leaning forward on the tips of his toes to try and see if he could peer into the bowl Dick was holding. He was still too short.

At this, the woman in the opposite cell scoffed, walking forward so she was visible, and no longer hidden by the shadows in the corner of her cubicle.

"Do we _ever_ have chicken? Oh what I wouldn't give for a nice, plump, juicy chicken breast right now…" Long, thin fingers curled around the rotting iron, their sharply pointed nails tapping and grating against the metal. "Hmmmm, little Dickie boy?"

The sound of her voice made Dick shudder, and he tried to keep the contempt off his face as he turned to face her.

"Priscilla. Good to see you're up to showing your face again." The woman, Priscilla, scowled at Dick before viciously shoving her dirty blonde hair back behind her ears.

"Don't talk down to me, boy." She hissed, grip on the bar tightening.

"I wasn't," Dick informed her, nonchalant, turning back and handing Jervis his food. There was an obscene mutter when he found it wasn't chicken, which made Dick chuckle.

"Keep praying, Jervis." He stage whispered, with an almost conspiracy theory air to it, smiling lightly at the look that dawned on the prisoner's face.

Dick didn't bother mixing Priscilla's food for her as he turned back to face her.

She still had that angry, vicious look on her face, one hand curled like an iron fist around the bar, the other tapping a nail against her thigh.

"Should I bother giving you this," Dick held the bowl out before her, just out of her reach, one eyebrow raised. "Or are you just going to fling it back in my face, like last time?"

Priscilla snarled, and teeth still bared hissed: "Keep it, shove it up your ass. Drown a puppy with it." Dick sighed, before turning away.

He could hear the sobbing begin, and quiet whimpers of apology, but knew turning back would only result in her vicious exterior surfacing once again.

Besides, Priscilla liked lobster. She'd get her fill that evening, if she was up to it.

Taking Priscilla's bowl, he gave it a quick stir before hurrying back down the line to Hartley's cell, conveniently placing it on the small table that stood resting against the wall separating Hartley from Philip.

Hartley watched Dick place it there before leaving, giving him a curt nod as he did so.

Upon reaching the last occupied prison cell, Dick was becoming ravenous himself. There was something about making meals for other people that made him hungry… It couldn't have been the smell of the food, because the only smell coming from these bowls was that of vomit.

Or something akin to vomit, at any rate.

"Santana," Dick called, crouching down so he was level with the man sat at the end of the cramped room. "Breakfast is ready."

Santana didn't come closer to Dick, or even move or reply. He just sat there, staring, mouth moving.

From far away, it would seem as though he was speaking at length to himself, words that only he knew.

But they weren't words, they were just sounds that had no meaning or proper pronunciation.

Dick could hear them gradually get louder, and it seemed as though the man was trying to communicate with him.

"Hmmm? What was that, Santana? I can't quite make out what you're saying." Nobody ever could, and as much as it amused the other guards (and some prisoners), Dick couldn't help but pity the bloke.

The garbled syllables continued, along with slow, unenergetic gestures that trembled with enough force to cause an earthquake through the rest of his body.

"Are you hungry?" Dick tried, pushing the bowl closer to him through the cage wall.

He had learnt long ago not to actually go into the cells, even if the prisoner's looked as though they could barely lift a spoon.

Looks were deceiving, and in a prison?

Looks were very, very deceiving.

The rest of the week passed in the same fashion, of Dick spending his daylight hours feeding and entertaining the prisoners as best he could.

* * *

**Are looks **_**really**_** that deceiving? (and look; no boat humour!)**

**Well, this is the launch (whoops, spoke too soon) of Part Two, and this is hopefully going to be considerably longer than Part One. I think.**

**Also, all the prisoners are DC villains – with the exception of Stumps, who was the first guy I thought of before I had the bright idea of using people who already exist. (And this was mainly a filler chap to introduce Dickie.)**


	5. Chapter V

**From Fiddler's Green and Back**

**Part Two**

**Chapter V**

"_Just when I've set up my new life, my old one comes back. Well played, Gotham." – Nightwing #1_

* * *

Wally was _bored._

Not the 'oh it's raining and therefore stuck inside all day' (he grew up on a _boat, _if it rained outside it rained inside.) kind of bored.

No, this was the 'I've been trapped in this god forsaken room for an average of three moonlights and I am _killing_ myself but I have nothing to kill myself _with_' kind of bored.

And, to top it all off, they had stripped him of his nice yellow dress!

They'd also placed him in chains and confiscated his gun and various other 'weaponry', (A leather wrist tie? Really? What was he going to do, taunt people to death with the fact a cow had been killed for it? Shove the beads up their noses, until they could no longer breathe? Come on, he wasn't that odd.) But he felt like that wasn't quite the issue at hand. (His _dress!_ It was gone, taken, destroyed! He could weep for it, mourn the pretty little thing - you know, if he wasn't too busy trying to wriggle his hands out of the shackles.)

He had no shoes, either. His feet were bare. He wasn't quite sure what that had been all about, them being confiscated, but he guessed almost knee high boots on a male pirate _would_ look a bit off, all things considered.

When the bend in his thumb hit the metal rim – sending a shooting pain down his wrist and remaining fingers that was positively _not good_, Wally let out a sharp gasp and shoved his hand back through, letting his hand fall limp so the muscles and bones could relax.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Wally let himself fall back down onto the withered bench.

He could walk around if he _really_ wanted to – the shackles on his feet were surprisingly agile; the chain connecting one foot to the other was unusually long.

Wally wondered what that was about, considering the chain between his hands was barely 3 chinks long.

Perhaps it was to reduce suicide rates? After all, he deemed it pretty much impossible to strangle yourself with a chain that was connected to your feet – that is, unless you were extremely flexible. And he didn't know anyone who _was._ Except maybe Zatanna, but she'd literally thrown him overboard after that one time…

Or maybe they were trying to promote fitness and jogging in prison.

Or giving you the option of running whilst being chased by various occupants.

Wally really, really didn't know; but he was sure he'd find out soon enough.

He looked around the small room once more. It wasn't a cell; there were no bars, he couldn't see nor hear any other prisoners, and it was _clean._

Jail houses were rarely clean.

It was solitary confinement.

Along the back wall was a rail, one he easily recognised.

They had them on ships.

Kaldur, with help from Conner, had torn their one down, though.

"We have no need for this." He had stated calmly, entire crew before him. This was before Rocket and Billy (_Captain_, his mind reprimanded, rather harshly at that. The boy refused to acknowledge being called anything but that) had joined, before Mel came along with Karen in tow. Before Wally's cousin had found that beetle-like boy he adored so much. After Garfield had joined them as M'gann's little brother, but before Monkey's scurrying paws were running across the beams at night, his vocal cords screeching as Gar played late into the night with him, before M'gann would get angry in her not actually angry at all way, like big sisters do, ordering them both to bed.

"Though we may be pirates, it is not our intent to cause harm unnecessarily. We have no need for such a prominent place to display whatever weapons we may possess." He was always so formal with them when it came to announcements, to change.

"What if _we_ get attacked?" Questioned Artemis, her arms crossing her chest, raising her bust ever so slightly.

"I will not be taking any weapons away. You are welcome to keep whatever you like, as long as it is out of sight."

They could adhere to that ruling. It was true; they didn't want to shed blood if they could avoid it. They weren't mean people, this was just their lifestyle. It was how they had been brought up. It was all most of them knew.

"W-what about the cannons?" Everyone looked to the floor when this voice squeaked up, uneven pitch throughout.

There, shielding his body mostly from sight was Garfield, clutching his older sister's leg as he bit his lip worriedly, staring up at Kaldur.

Kaldur smiled gently down at Gar, the small boy still hidden behind M'gann's legs, before crouching until he was at eye level.

Gar stepped backward a bit more- _He's so shy! , _M'gann had to stop herself from physically cooing, before bracing his shoulders and taking two tiny steps forward.

He was now in front of Kaldur, and in line with M'gann.

"What is a ship," Began Kaldur, reaching out to ruffle Gar's hair, "Without her beloved guns?"

Kaldur was not quite ready for the grin that lit up literally the whole of Gar's face, the twinkle in his eye, nor the sudden force he felt himself propelled backwards with as Gar had literally flung himself at him.

Wally couldn't stop laughing at the scene, bug eyed Kaldur teetering on his heels, dangerously close to toppling. Before long, though, he stabled himself and rubbed a comforting hand down Gar's back, eyes softening.

"You big softie," Wally teased, snickering as Kaldur only rolled his eyes.

Now Wally was rolling his eyes.

It was a weapons rack. All of the weapons had been removed, the hooks that hoisted them up missing.

The wood that hung diagonally across the back of the rack was broken in three places, holes riddling the plank. They looked like bullet holes.

Most likely, this room had been a former weapons room. He idly wondered why it had been cleared out, transformed into this kind of holding cell.

Probably because it was convenient.

The door could be locked, and you couldn't see through it.

No one would know you were here, unless they could hear you moving about inside.

And Wally couldn't hear anything outside, either. The world was dead to him, the only chance to see or hear being when his door was opened and a bowl of something that looked vaguely like oats was pushed inside, though he doubted its sincerity. It could have just been ground potatoes in some water.

It certainly tasted plain.

Wally groaned when he heard the lock on the door click, the wood creaking as it was swung open.

When he didn't hear it slam shut several seconds later, Wally lifted his head a little bit so he could see.

Or, at least _try_ to see – there was a hand blocking his view.

A hand reaching toward him, attaching itself to his shirt.

He hadn't even heard the man's footsteps, which was very surprising, considering he looked to be about twice his weight and would have surely made just a little bit of noise.

Perhaps Wally had just zoned out too far.

"Come on," Growled a voice, and it was deep and gruff and not comforting at all. Wally was hauled up and dragged several feet.

It took him a couple of steps to be able to walk by himself without tripping, but alas, he managed it.

They left his room, his cell, whatever the hell it actually was or used to be, and began heading east. At least, Wally presumed it was east. They were heading toward the sun, and it looked like it hadn't fully risen yet, so…

Now the chains made sense; he couldn't very well keep up with this guard's pace if he had only inches to manoeuvre.

The light was almost blinding Wally, so much to the point that he had to resort to walking with his eyes squinted and head bowed low so all he could see was his feet, his dirt clad toes pressing against the stone beneath.

His too-long toenails chipping with every accidental trip that happened, and the heels of his feet hardening as they got used to life without comfort.

The man had, sometime in the short journey between Wally's bench and the room's door, attached a rather long chain to the shackles on his wrist, and was now sort of dragging him but not actually dragging – the line was slack.

"Judge wants you out by the gallows." The voice growled once again, (was that the only tone he knew?) and Wally felt a rising panic. White-washed, and nerves jittering all over the place, Wally sped his skittish steps so he was almost beside the guard.

"You mean I don't get a trial?" Wally was pretty sure his voice was unorthodoxly high at the end of his question.

The guard's lip curled upward; "Judge Luthor is working on a new amendment to the law. Scum like you don't deserve a trial." He paused there. "But yes, you get a trial. Of a kind."

"It's going to be public?" Wally asked, and received no answer.

Just before him, as they neared the outside, he could see the fellow captives who had also been held were already lined up.

They were of varying looks; children, women, men and animals. (They weren't animals _really,_ but Wally could think of no other way to describe them, except for perhaps 'savages' or 'barbarians'. But he was trying to be polite.)

Most looked as though they had been imprisoned for days; weeks even – longer than he had by far. Not even a good scrubbing by M'gann or Zatanna would have gotten the grime off their faces, or out of their clothes; he was sure of it.

The shackles were falling off their gaunt frames and many actually now had rope instead, tied so tightly it couldn't have been comfortable in the least.

He was pretty sure at least one pair of hands weren't black from dirt.

Wally was viciously shoved into line behind one of said animals, who towered easily above him. Wally could only watch, doe-eyed, as the man shifted his head and looked down at Wally over his shoulder.

Wally felt his lips stretch involuntarily into a timid smile, which the man snorted at before returning his gaze to the front.

His escort – was he a guard, or the executioner? Both sounded very likely. He looked like he could proficiently wield a scythe or axe or some other kind of heavy, two-handed weapon. Whatever, point was, he was beginning to connect Wally to the guy in front with the chain he had previously held slack.

"Oh, yes. Judge Luthor believes in the public having a say at how the law operates." He finally answered Wally's question, but by then, he'd forgotten ever asking it. Blinking rapidly, it took a short moment for him to remember.

"That… that doesn't sound too legal, actually." Wally worried his bottom lip as the man finished attaching his cuffs and chain to the prisoner in front. He snorted,

"Like you're one to talk about 'legal', _pirate."_ He snarled the last word, before disappearing to the front of the line.

* * *

The entire line was forced to their knees when they reached the circular platform. No one refused, despite Wally's thinking that a few of the larger men (read: animals) would.

By now, Wally's eyes had adjusted perfectly to the blinding light, and he could see clearly.

Around them, in a spherical formation, was a crowd.

A crowd who were leering and snarling and- _wait, was that his shoe?_

He watched as the object – which heavily resembled the boot he may or may not have left in that poor family's house, sailed through the air and landed with a heavy thump against the planks.

Wally could have cried.

Keeping the crowds at bay was a feeble line of guards.

Each had, clasped tightly in their hands, a long, thin rifle with a protruding bayonet.

None of them particularly stood out. As Wally's eyes traversed around as much as his field of vision would allow, he noticed they all had the same generic looks; dark hair, dark eyes, lean, not overly muscular but obviously strong enough to take down several men at once with ease, controlled face – stoic, emotionless but with a hint of contempt for the prisoners.

They were boring, not eye candy specimen at all.

Not a single blonde or red head in sight; at least not that he could see. Ones without hair visible were either bald, or their hair was so long it had to be pinned up beneath their hats. And it was most likely to be the former.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Wally busied himself by listening to the talks of the crowd.

He could discern a few murmurs, a few loud cries of undignified abuse, various violent outbursts of anger and could see some vicious, physical attacks.

It was mainly the men.

And they grew tiring and repetitive very, very fast.

It was boring.

Just behind the assortment of spectators, loomed the pale stones that made up the arch way heading the entrance to the docks. And down those chipped, sea washed steps was a further set of wooden steps that led onto the wooden piers. They were nice docks, from what Wally could remember of his brief arrival before shooting off through the town.

He could smell the salted tinge in the air, feel it on his tongue as the sea breeze rode through the air.

It made him envious, and caused him to sigh in longing. He hadn't seen the sea in a while, and he supposed he wouldn't again until he was dragged down to the gallows.

Wally turned his attention back to the scene before him, to the Judge upfront.

He was tall, and fancy looking. His voice was clear, precise, and matched the astute gestures that his hands performed.

Around his neck was a long, formal tie. It was white, not a hint of dirt anywhere to be seen.

His overcoat was, like the guard's uniform form his previous visit at the docks, navy – though this time, a darker shade. His stockings – red, the Spanish very much seemed to like their colours – were also a shade darker than the norm.

Wally guessed it made him stick out, because apparently, that atrocious wig on top of his head was not doing enough.

And it was a wig, because Wally was entirely certain no man could have hair that long and look that young, and it was the wrong shade to be anything _but_ fake. Real hair did not go that grey.

He was addressing the crowd, and Wally only caught the very end of his speech, as he turned to survey the prisoners in question.

"Of the laws decreed by his Majesty his self, anyone found to be guilty of treason, piracy, or the abetment of such acts will first be sentenced to branding before he or she may plead their case."

His voice positively shook with authority.

One by one, the men and women and children before him were all called up.

First, Judge Luthor would say their name. Next, the executioner (Wally really wasn't sure who the guy was supposed to be) would come and release them from the chain before sending them up.

Third, they'd have a small chat with the Judge. And then their fate would go one of two ways: Luthor would announce their punishment, be it branding or hanged.

If it was the former, they would be placed in the stocks and have a scolding iron pressed against the skin.

The latter, and the executioner would drag them, ignorant of their protests and pleas, proud of the way the crowds cheered, toward the other side of the platform, where they would start a new chain.

One sentenced inevitably for one last stop at the gallows.

Between the announcement of the sentencing and the actual sentence, Judge Luthor would make a short but incredibly alluring speech.

Wally just could not wait for his.

By the time Wally's name – the ninth John Smith, actually – had been called up, it was well past midday.

"Care to tell us your real name, 'John Smith'?" Judge Luthor posed the question as though he were baiting him. "At least then your already tarnished record won't be tainted by one more account of false identity."

And _damn_ if Wally didn't take the bait. Sighing, he muttered;

"Wallace. Wallace West."

Judge Luthor smiled in triumph, turning heel to walk toward the stocks. Wally gulped, and had no other choice but to follow.

"I don't see why I have to be placed in the stocks. It's not like I can run anywhere; you have my feet chained."

Wally's utters went overlooked, as the executioner forced him down and locked him into place.

"Seriously, this is completely un-nesphapla."

Cold water was splashed over his body, dripping down his cheeks and rolling off his chin.

He spat, saliva, water and unfinished syllables spraying out of his mouth and landing on the platform below. The crowds murmured in distaste.

Ginger strands of sopping hair fell over his eyes, sticking to his forehead. It was annoying, that he couldn't simply reach up and move the impairment from his vision, because _oh no_, the nasty pirate _had_ to be chained up. Just think of the children!

Well, since they clearly _were_ thinking of the children, he may as well milk it up a tiny bit.

He raised his head, and shot a dirty like grin at the women and children. The men called out in anger, and Wally had to snicker when one guard was almost toppled over in his attempt to keep the guards back.

Another bucket of water was thrown over his face.

It tasted like the sea. It tasted like home, like when the waves would rise high enough to crash over the sides on a particularly stormy day.

Like when he'd entertain Gar and the other kids – because that's what they were, really, just kids - when they were younger by having throwing contests – who could get this the furthest, who could create the biggest splash, resulting in one or more of them being hit with the back spray of a particular throw from Conner or Mel or sometimes even both.

Like when he'd pissed the girls off one too many times, so they'd attempt (and usually succeed) to throw him overboard and make him climb his way back up, because Kaldur was actually the only one nice enough to lower a life boat for him, but even so Kaldur would usually deem it an unnecessary use of his time since Wally did, in fact, have two functioning arms and was, in fact, obviously capable of climbing up the side of the ship.

He'd done it before. And he'd more than likely have to do it again, too.

"Before you and I stands a scoundrel, basking in the glory of his immoral intentions. A thief, a bandit… A _pirate._" There was a sneer in his voice, curving at his lips, as Luthor said the last word, making Wally wince. They were such hurtful, derogatory words. Completely true, though – well, perhaps not the thief or bandit part. He hadn't stolen anything yet. Except that dress.

There was a violent reaction from the crowd, and Wally could only roll his eyes at the display. Judge Luthor was droning on a bit – surely the other speeches hadn't been this long, had they? Perhaps it was because he was nervous. Time always slowed during bouts of nervousness or apprehension, during times of fear or distress.

His eye roll caught the attention of a guard, who tightened the grip on his musket when Wally looked his way. The guard's blue eyes narrowed, his lips set in a thin line.

Wait, blue? Wally was intrigued. Maybe there _was_ eye candy in the guard community after all.

Wally kind of wanted to carve the guy's mouth into a smile. Just a little bit. Just to see what he'd look like smiling.

There was movement behind Wally's right shoulder, and then his shirt was ripped open; the pale, freckled skin of his right bicep exposed.

The same man – the executioner, coincidently - wiped his arm with a dry rag, making sure there were no water droplets or dampness remaining.

The lid was lifted off a black stove, smoke pouring out. The hot iron branding iron was pulled out, the 'P' shining a bright colour of amber.

Wally turned his face away as the man wielding the iron drew near, just missing the sadistic smirk that crossed his face.

_Oh, yes,_ he thought, _definitely the executioner._

And then the iron was pressed harshly onto his arm, burning his flesh. The searing pain lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to cause tears to well in his eyes.

He had hissed and clenched his jaw shut, determined not to give them the satisfaction of hearing him cry out.

When the men before him had, the crowd had only cheered and laughed.

Besides, Wally had suffered far, far worse than a branded letter. He felt his mind begin to associate the sensation, to bring to the forefront of his mind the details of those days, when he- how they-

…A branded letter was nothing some rum and a bit of cloth couldn't fix. Or just the cloth, actually, since he severely doubted the prisoners were given such luxuries as alcohol.

It might make them rowdy.

* * *

**Fun Fact: The branding scene was the first scene I wrote, back when this was supposed to be a 10,000 word one-shot. Ooops. And I think characterisation is going gangway a bit here, but I'm working on it.**

**Fun Fact #2: I actually got a polystyrene ball stuck up my nose when I was a child. It was a very enjoyable stay at the hospital.**

**Not proud of this one at all, actually, so please forgive me for this chapter. We've been having a words war for the last 20something days. Also not checked by anyone but me and my lazy eyes, oops.**


	6. Chapter VI

**From Fiddler's Green and Back**

**Part Two**

**Chapter VI**

"_Nightwing – youthful and androgynous. His name speaks of the forbidden desires that are expressed in dreams." – Detective Comics #864_

* * *

In total, seven of the thirty-eight prisoners were branded by the executioner, each with different symbols, for reasons varying from thievery to piracy to treason.

The rest of them were hanged, immediately so. A few of them were children, more women than men.

Wally thought the crowds would care about that, have something to say- but the lack of reactions proved otherwise.

With his arm in intensifying pain, throbbing so much that it caused him to bite through his lower lip – that was now bleeding, swelling and dribbling a mix of blood and saliva, Wally was uncertain about what was to happen next.

Judge Luthor stood before them, back toward and conversing with a guard.

The pretty one from before, the one that had the only blue eyes visible and who had been visibly affected by Wally's little eye roll.

Even straining his ears, Wally failed to hear the –apparently important, if the facial expressions were anything to go by- conversation.

"You're working guard duty for this week, correct?" Dick nodded in apprehension at Luthor's question toward him,

"Yes, sir." Judge Luthor cast a quick glance back at the prisoners.

"Take these men with you on your return, then. I assume you have enough empty cells – if not, I'm sure Crane would be more than happy to take some of them off your hands." Here he paused, ensuring that Dick was taking in all he said. "Can you handle this by yourself? It would be no trouble for me to alert Gordon to-"

"It's fine, Judge Luthor. I don't think they'll be much trouble. Besides, I think Priscilla will be glad for some female company – at least, half of her will be." A light chuckle escaped Dick's lips, and Judge Luthor failed to deny himself a small smile at that.

"Very well," He responded, and Dick nodded in goodbye, turning away from the man whose approval meant so much to him.

Sparing not one glance at the line of seven waiting rather patiently for them to be dragged underground, Dick tugged the chain free of the post it had been secured to, wrapping it loosely around his wrist as he towed the crew forth, herding them onto the awaiting wagon.

Wally was forced to sit on a rickety old bench that was nailed to the side of the wagon, and felt like it would crumble at any given moment.

Beside him, was another man – one that towered over him, even sitting, and had Wally cowering a little against the side. Just a little. He had no hair; his skin was not a colour Wally would register as existing. (It was like sick, his skin was like sick that had fermented.)

He had no shirt on, no shoes and his trousers were ripped and frayed just below his knees.

Wally was pretty sure not all ten toes were present, either.

Being the last to board the cart meant Wally was now the first to be unloaded, becoming the new dog attached to Dick's leash.

At the back of him, he could feel the weight of the other prisoner's feet as they lugged behind him following various paces, all walking in what seemed to be a sombre silence.

They met a man halfway across their journey, just as they neared the jailhouse. Wally hadn't seen this building before, not even in passing.

It loomed about three stories high, and Wally could only wonder if this was the courthouse where the more important trials – the ones that didn't contain Pirates and scum – took place.

It was probably was, if the white washed walls were anything to go by.

"These the branded lot?" Said man asked, taking a quick look up and down the line through his glasses.

He was moderately old, with greying hair growing from the top of his skull and an equally greying moustache – but no beard.

"Yep. Wanna take a few?" Dick's voice was cheerful, and easy going, and completely out of the blue. Because, prison guard? Usually strict, formal?

Dick was neither of those things – at least, so far, he seemed not to be. And Wally just couldn't figure it out. This was the first time Wally had properly heard him speak – and he had popped his 'P'. Who does that?!

The guy nodded, "Sure, why not. Could always use a couple extra ones to keep my hands busy. Do anything to not have to go home so early to my wife," The man chuckled toward the end of his sentence, his voice low and throaty.

He walked down the line, before turning on his heel and coming back up to the front. "How many spare cells you got over there?"

Dick shrugged, thinking about the question. "A few, actually; Duella's just opened up, as well. Probably enough for all of these guys."

"Fair enough, but if you don't mind, I think I'll take these five." Taking a knife out of his belt, he cut the rope that held the prisoner behind Wally to the prisoner behind him.

"Taking the girl too? Priscilla's going to be miffed." Dick observed, a thoughtful look upon his face.

"What the lady doesn't know can't harm her," The man replied, an air of dignity surrounding his words. Or an air of deceitfulness, Wally couldn't be entirely sure. "See you around, Officer Grayson." Dick nodded just as the man turned away,

"Yeah, later, Commissioner." To show he had heard, the commissioner raised two fingers of his right hand, indicating them toward his head in a sort of backward salute.

For some reason, the fact that only two prisoners remained made Dick a lot chattier as they continued walking- well, he wasn't actually saying a word before, so really it just made him chatty.

"So, Wallace West, huh?" Dick began, giving Wally a swift, guarded look over his shoulder.

"Wally. I prefer Wally." Wally muttered, following along dutifully.

"Noted. Now, Wally, I don't know how many jails you've been in before, but I'm going to assume that it's quite a few-"

"Hey!" Ignoring the outburst, Dick continued as though Wally had never opened his mouth.

"This one is a little different."

"Different how?" Wally asked, suddenly suspicious.

He knew something was off.

'Officer Grayson' was too friendly, too in touch with his surroundings to be legit. He was probably their secret weapon, and those who had been sent to be hanged were really the ones given mercy.

Oh dear lord, this was it was Wally was going to die he was going to be taken to some underground torture chamber and tortured until he gave up the names and locations for all of his crew members and associated pirates because _Officer Grayson is actually some kind of secret sadist in disguise._

_Artemis is going to kill me for it, she's going to find me beyond the grave and actually kill me for it._

"I'm not some secret sadist, and I'm not taking you to my torture chamber." Dick frowned, looking back at Wally once again.

Wally blinked. "Uh. What?" He asked, completely dumbfounded, because-

Because, and oh shit, he'd said all that out loud.

"You just said-" Dick's mouth went from a frown to a bemused smile as he watched the emotions fly over Wally's face. "Do you do that often? Say your thoughts out loud without realising?"

If Wally could see Dick's face, he'd have known the guy was smiling. He couldn't, but he could guess from the teasing tone of his voice that there was a little bit of a smirk present.

"That's kind of adorable," Dick said, giving Wally a little wink. Wally spluttered, face red as Dick unlocked a round topped door and led them somewhere downstairs, laughing.

They walked for a little while, now their footsteps the only sound to be heard as Wally tried to push away his embarrassment.

It was the wink that did it, that pale eyelid (for Dick was unusually pale, especially in comparison to those around him) closing over the blue that looked so inviting to Wally, so calm and serene that he felt as though he could float aimlessly in it; kind of like the sea.

Yeah, kind of like the sea.

Lighting up their path were several brass torch holders on either side of the corridor, burning away with a brittle sense of duty. Not a flame licked over the edge, seeping into the space it should not go.

Despite the little warmth emitting from said flames, Wally grew colder still as they strode on. His feet were the first to go semi-numb, his toes arching as they protested against the cold ground.

He was lucky he hadn't stubbed them or cut them; the prison medical care team probably weren't going to be very helpful.

Sighing a little, Wally was quick to notice that their footsteps were now getting a little louder.

The corridor was opening up, and Wally could faintly see the outline cells in the not so distant distance.

Small whispers, and the occasional hoarse laugh was beginning to fill up the air, and Wally couldn't explain it, couldn't describe it, but there was an undoubtedly 'safe' aura about the place.

Wally hadn't realised it, but Dick had started talking. He only caught the last few syllables, which sounded vaguely like "-otal whack jobs." There was a pause as Dick regained some breath, and then spoke a little louder, addressing both prisoners.

"Come on, kiddies, let me introduce you to your new play-_hughk!_" And then Dick could say no more, because the prisoner behind Wally, the one that looked like a fucking crocodile with those huge muscles (he was built like the Greek Gods of legend!) and green tinted skin and baldness like Judge Luthor and razor sharp teeth had decided to take advantage of Dick's apparent too trusting nature and, while his back was turned, had pushed past Wally, broken the chain connecting them, and was literally choking Dick to death right in front of Wally and all Wally could do was squeal at the suddenness of it all.

_Oh crap I'm going to witness the murder of a pretty boy oh Lord help I'll be tried with assisted murder as well as piracy and what the hell am I doing?!_

Wally's thoughts had, for all extensive purposes, finally caught up with his actions.

Well, he never had been a 'think before you speak' kind of guy. Apparently, that extended to actions as well.

Because he was currently straddling the guy's back (while he was standing!) and doing pretty much exactly the same as the guy in front of him, except well, _to_ the guy in front of him, and not to the pretty guard that was quickly losing valuable air.

Utilising the chain that bound his wrists loosely together, (_Brains over brawns, heh,_ Wally thought, though the smile it caused quickly faded) Wally pulled his arm across the neck of the guy, and pulled back, the restraint embedding into the guy's skin.

And Wally kept pulling back, until said guy was forced to release Dick from his grip and instead use his hands to try and peel Wally's monkey-like hold from him – which was, actually, easier said than done because A) despite all appearances, Wally was actually pretty strong, and B) Wally _really_ didn't want to get thrown head first into the nearest brick wall.

No, he really did not.

Dick had fallen to the floor, and Wally only just managed to see Dick's hands splay out in front of his body to catch himself as he hit the floor before the guy Wally was currently hijack piggy backing decided that, he too, really liked the idea of the floor.

As one knee dropped to the floor, Wally released his hold on the guy, ('_Croc',_ was what Wally's internal monologue nicknamed him, _a God damn Killer Croc.)_ and lifting the chain from over his neck, jumped backward.

Landing crouched, Wally swiftly struck the guy in his leg, effectively knocking him over and onto all fours.

And then, because he had no weapons at hand, Wally did the only thing he could; skirting around the hand that feebly outstretched to swipe at Wally – the lack of oxygen had apparently made Croc a little delusional – Wally delivered the final blow in the form of bringing his bare heel crashing down with all the force he could muster atop the skull of the thug.

There was a shattering silence as the body seemed to crumble beneath Wally, and ignoring the throbbing pain that was now sharp in his foot, Wally stepped backward, careful to not put too much pressure on his injured heel.

Suddenly remembering there was a certain guard he was supposed to have been attaining the health of, Wally turned abruptly with searching eyes, fearing that he may have just (potentially) caused the death of two people.

He hadn't, as Dick was now sitting up, slightly wide eyed.

There was a moment where the two men just stared at each other, both breathing heavier than usual – Wally more so than Dick.

Not saying a word, Dick jumped fluidly – _too_ fluidly for a guy who had almost been choked to death less than two minutes ago - to his feet, and brushed himself down.

As though nothing out of the ordinary – say, nothing like a pirate just saving his life – had happened.

Dick observed the scene, gave a little shrug, and seemed inclined to not say anything else on the matter.

"Uh, you're welcome!?" Wally practically cried,

"For what?" Dick asked, lips pursed.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe… _Saving your life!?"_ Dick cocked one head to the side in confusion, before breaking out into a barking laugh. His head was thrown back and everything.

"Oh- oh, right you actually thought- Hah, no, I was fine. He wouldn't have killed me." Dick stretched his arm muscles then, and made his way over to the unconscious body.

He knelt down, trying to find a pulse.

"Wouldn't have- _He had his hands wrapped around your throat!" _Wally was near hysterics, and Dick could hear the chains jingle and clink as he flailed his hands didn't say anything in regards to that statement, instead opting to tell him about the body.

"You know, pirate Wally, you're lucky this guy isn't dead. Then you'd be serving double sentence and possibly a slot on Death's Row – not that you weren't going to get that anyway, but it would have come quicker if you'd kill him. But, that was quite a hit you got on him. I'm impressed." It showed in Dick's tone as he rose to face Wally, a triumphant smile on his face.

"Now let's put you in your cell, shall we?"

Dick's feet started moving forward, whilst his face stayed bright and directed at Wally.

And Wally could kind of see what was going to happen and- yep, there Dick went.

His toes had caught on the beast of a man's outstretched hand, and he was now falling forward with all the mighty grace of a buffalo, on a collision cause destined for the rocky ground.

If Croc's hands hadn't killed Dick before, then they _definitely _would this time.

As if on instinct, Wally lurched forward and clasped his (albeit chained) hands around bunches in Dick's clothing, hoisting him somewhat upright. His legs were a little bent, and it was probably uncomfortable, but at least he wasn't dead; right?

Wally was more than a little smug as he stared down into Dick's blue eyes, "Well would you look at that," He mused. "That's the second time today I've saved your life. And in less than an hour, too." Dick's eyes narrowed as he looked up at Wally, and Wally had absolutely no time to register the aggravated glint that surfaced before it vanished as quickly as it had come.

"Great." Dick muttered, quite unenthusiastically, and then a little louder: "Well, you can let go of me now."

Wally looked at the hands that were still clutching Dick's sleeves, pinning them to his side. Wally raised an eyebrow whilst looking back at Dick's face, "Are you sure you won't lose your footing - _again_?"

Dick didn't have to be able to see the smirk to know it was present. Wally's voice was it all took.

But, two could play at that game.

Smiling brightly up at Wally, Dick answered with – charmingly, it might serve to add; "I'm _pretty_ sure." And before Wally could return the smile, there was a sudden pinch in his shoulder, in the groove between his neck and collarbone, and then Dick was no longer clasped between his hands.

Instead, both of Dick's hands were pressed against his shoulders – one on each – and he was using Wally as a springboard.

"Hey!" Wally half yelped-half cried, hands clutching drastically at the thinning air.

He whirled around to where Dick had landed, after a small flip, no less, on two feet, facing Wally.

And smirking.

"Balance is something that comes pretty natural to me…_ Pirate._ Come along, now."

Apparently, Dick's trusting nature didn't subside even after one attempted killing, because he didn't even pick up the chain that was now hanging loosely in front of Wally so that he could lead him.

He just walked off, evidently expecting Wally to follow without hassle – and, well, that was exactly what happened.

* * *

**I am sorry here let me help you with my lynching**

**I started a 'Bonfire Special' for this story! It'll be uploaded as a separate piece, and is actually set in the future so may (read: will) contain spoilers.**

**This is so far my longest story! Also, NaNoWriMo is coming up and I feel bad for not updating in a long while, and I'll most likely be putting it off for the whole of November, I'm so sorry :(**

**P.S I DON'T KNOW ANYTHING ABOUT ACROBATICS/GYMNASTICS SO IF ANYTHING I WRITE IS ACTUALLY IMPLAUSIBLE PLEASE LET ME KNOW.**


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